


Children of Blood and Smoke

by carnovalesque



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5799886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnovalesque/pseuds/carnovalesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the Mark of Cain revived Dean, Sam has been on his brother's trail - or tried to be.  In the weeks that Dean has been missing, Sam's hit nothing but dead ends on Dean's whereabouts and ways to remove the Mark - until a lead directs him to Lydia Shaheen, witch extraordinaire, if rumors are to be believed.  After some persuasion, Lydia agrees to join Sam on his search and rescue mission.  Together they take on the Mark of Cain and all the darkness that comes with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. S10E01

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this came when I heard that a witch was going to be featured prominently in season 10. This is what I hoped would happen.
> 
> It begins to diverge from canon after the final episode of season 9, but borrows certain elements from season 10's canon.

“You should talk to Lydia Shaheen.” 

Sam absently scratched his sling. Across the diner table, Cooper took a swig of his beer. Sam had never met Cooper before, but he reminded him of a strange, unholy mixture of Garth and Bobby. He was about Sam’s age, thin and lanky, with a thick black beard and a gruff voice. After months of tracking down leads to dead ends instead of Dean, Sam had run into Cooper. Supposedly, he was a reputable guy, and an established Hunter.

“Who’s Lydia Shaheen?” asked Sam. 

Cooper burped loudly, which made Sam grimace. “Witch. Works with Hunters sometimes. Gotta pay her, though.” 

Sam shook his head. “Witches can’t help me.”

“This one can.” Cooper set down his beer and leaned forward, his brown leather jacket tightening around his shoulders. “She don’t just do magic, she writes it.” 

Sam frowned. “She…writes it? She writes spells? So?” 

Cooper scoffed. “So? She can take anything, any situation, and work out how to fix it, just like that. When was the last time you met a witch could do that?”

Sam thought about it. He hadn’t met too many witches, at least none that he found pleasant enough to interact with. But if this witch could write spells out of nothing…then maybe she was exactly who he needed to get the Mark of Cain off Dean, bring him back. After all the dead ends he had been running into, the witch was worth a shot.

***

According to Cooper, Lydia Shaheen lived in Iris, Washington, a small town near the ocean. The perpetual gloom of Washington was no different in this town. As Sam drove in, the clouds seemed to turn grayer, darker, and a rumble of thunder shook the sky.

Awkwardly, Sam pulled into an empty parking spot on the street across from the witch’s house. He fumbled with the seat belt for a moment before swinging out of the car. He still wasn’t completely accustomed to operating one-handed, and it was quickly getting annoying.

Sam dug out the napkin Cooper had scrawled the address on. It matched the small house Sam was staring at, which was situated at the very end of a very residential block. From the small porch dangled strings of a green plant Sam couldn’t identify, and beside the door was a small pumpkin. Sam frowned – was it October already? 

With some effort he crossed the street, slowly ascended the porch stairs, and looked for a doorbell. There wasn’t one, so he knocked instead, three loud raps. 

Sam only had to wait a moment before a young woman answered. She was dark-skinned, with black curls pulled into a loose bun on top of her head. She blinked at Sam, features schooled. “Can I help you?” 

“Hi.” Sam shifted and tried to smile; he hadn’t done it in so long his muscles strained. “Are you Lydia Shaheen?”

The woman stared at him for a moment, unblinking. “I’m afraid she’s moved out.”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“She moved out.” The woman enunciated her words this time. “I just bought this house off her last month.” 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Sam said, shaking his head. “A friend of hers gave me this address.”

The woman shrugged.

“Well, where did she go?” asked Sam. “Did she leave a forwarding address?” 

“I think she said she was going back home to Yemen.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Yemen.”

The woman raised an eyebrow and held Sam’s gaze. Her large, dark eyes would have made someone else shrink, but Sam only returned the stare defiantly as she continued, “Yeah. She’s got family there. Sorry.” With that, the woman closed the door in Sam’s face.

For a moment Sam stood completely still, stunned. Could Cooper’s intel really have been a month old? He turned and began to make his way towards the Impala, but a nagging suspicion made him stop before crossing the street. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell and dialed Cooper’s number. 

“You find Lydia?” Cooper said the moment he picked up.

“I found some woman who said Lydia Shaheen moved back to Yemen,” said Sam. He waited.

“That’s weird,” said Cooper. Sam could almost see Cooper’s thick black eyebrows coming together in a frown. “I just talked to her last week. She didn’t say nothing about moving.”

Sam scoffed. “Thanks, man, I’ll figure it out.” Sam hung up. Then he went back to the porch and knocked on the door again, harder than before.

The same woman answered the door, lips pursed.

“I know you’re Lydia,” said Sam firmly. “Why are you lying to me?” 

She let out a small sigh but said nothing for a long while. “Look,” she said finally. “I don’t want any trouble.”

Sam waved his one hand in the air. “Why would you think I’d make trouble? I haven’t even told you why I’m looking for you.”

Lydia crossed her arms, her expression solemn. “Because you’re a Winchester. And Winchesters always make trouble.” 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you know who I am?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Everyone who’s anyone in this business knows who the Winchester brothers are.” 

Sam looked at Lydia with renewed interest. If she knew who he was, that meant she was somebody in the Hunter community. That boded well for him. He had to make sure she helped him. 

She made to shut the door again, but Sam threw himself against it. He let out a gasp of pain as the door slammed into his bad arm. Lydia’s eyes widened in alarm momentarily, then her expression hardened. 

“Sorry,” muttered Sam. “That was…stupid. I’m sorry.” This was definitely not the time to act impulsive.

“Whatever you’re involved in, I don’t want anything to do with it.” Her voice sounded strained, her syllables clipped and enunciated. Sam noticed her knuckles tightening on the doorframe. 

“I’m sorry,” repeated Sam. “I just…my brother’s missing. And I think…I know he’s in trouble. I don’t know who else to ask. Please.” 

Lydia shook her head, but her grip on the door eased. “You’re not gonna go away, are you?” 

Sam said nothing, but smiled sheepishly. Playing the puppy dog, Dean would have said. Lydia did not return the smile, but she did step back and wave him in. Her hand dropped to her side in defeat.

The inside of the house was brighter than he’d expected it to be; every surface seemed to shine with filtered sunlight. Dust mites danced in the air around him. A thick garland of jasmine and gardenia hung on the door behind him, its pleasant smell drifting towards him. It felt like being in a garden, but as Sam’s gaze swept the room, he realized that the windows were too few and too small to illuminate it like that.

He looked to Lydia with a smile. “It’s magic. That’s how the room is so bright.” He had never seen magic used in such a simple, yet beautiful way before. 

In response Lydia pointed to his feet. “Shoes off.”

Sam blinked. “Seriously?” 

Lydia’s mouth twisted, with amusement or annoyance Sam couldn’t tell. “Seriously.” 

That was when Sam noticed Lydia was barefoot, her toenails painted a dark shade of burgundy, and there was a line of shoes beside the front door. She stared at him expectantly, and kept her eyes on him as he struggled to untie his shoes one-handed. Finally, he slipped them off and stood awkwardly in his socks.

Lydia led him to the living room, her blue ankle-length dress fluttering as she moved. Her furniture was worn and mismatched. Sam sat across from her on a cornflower blue couch while she settled into a red armchair, her elbows on her knees.

“So you just need a locator spell?” she asked the moment Sam had sat down.

Sam shifted in his seat. “Not exactly. I mean, yes, I need to find him, but…there’s more.” 

Her eyes rolled skyward again. “Of course there is,” she said dryly. She gestured for him to explain.

So Sam told her all about Dean acquiring the Mark of Cain in order to defeat Abaddon. He told her about the First Blade. He told her about the surveillance video he’d seen of Dean, black-eyed and demonic. He told her about the lack of lore on the subject, and his fruitless weeks of searching for Dean or any information on the Mark or how to remove it.

She listened to all this quietly and with no interruptions or questions, until Sam had said all he had to say. He fell silent, waiting for a response from Lydia, but she only looked at her hands with a furrowed brow.

“So do you – can you help?” said Sam hesitantly, to break the silence.

She looked up at him without moving a muscle. Her eyes were sharp, huge, and demon-dark. They were unsettling. Her attitude wasn’t helping, either. 

“You want me to remove the Mark?” she asked slowly.

Sam nodded. “The only problem is I have no idea how to remove it. Do you?” 

Lydia pursed her lips in thought. “I don’t know any more than you do.” She looked up. “I could find out if I got close enough and…experimented. Do you think I could do that?” Her tone indicated she knew exactly what she was asking.

Sam hesitated. The thought of his brother chained to a chair in the Bunker as he screamed in pain turned Sam’s stomach…but if it got the Mark off him, it would be worth it. Even Dean would think so.

“Yes.” Sam heard the steel in his own voice. “But we’d have to find him first.”

Lydia leaned back into her chair and crossed her legs. “And how do you plan to pay me for my services?” 

Despite what Cooper had told him, Sam had not given this too much thought. “What do you want?” 

Her lips pulled upwards at one corner. “I take cash.” 

Sam sighed. “I don’t have any money. I mean, you work with Hunters. You know it’s not exactly a lucrative business.” 

She considered him, head tilted slightly. “And yet my clients somehow manage to procure payment.” 

Sam almost laughed. Out of all the stumbling blocks he’d faced in trying to find Dean, he’d never imagined that money would be one of them. It was so mundane. It was an obstacle that belonged to people who didn’t know what really lived in the dark corners of the world. Not him.

After a moment, he thought of something. “You said yourself you’d have to experiment first. Why should I pay you if I don’t know whether or not you can remove the Mark?” 

Lydia smiled. “You seem to have forgotten that I’m doing you a favor by even speaking to you. I don’t work with Winchesters, remember? You need to make it worth my while.” 

Dammit. 

Sam exhaled in frustration. “Something other than money, then! What else do you want?”

Lydia didn’t answer. She stared at Sam, her face a perfect mask of calm, clearly unmoved by his outburst. As he racked his brain, his gaze wandered to the rest of the room. The opposite wall was covered by a line of bookshelves, filled to the brim with all kinds of books: dusty old volumes, shiny paperbacks, even scrolls. 

He turned back to Lydia. “Fine. I can do better than cash.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“Have you heard of the Men of Letters?”

Lydia scoffed, and there was more than a note of contempt in her voice when she spoke. “Yes. I’ve heard of the Men of Letters.” 

Sam leaned forward. “My grandfather was a member, and now I live in one of their Bunkers. You help me, and I’ll give you an all-access pass.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. 

“I’ll take down the spells that keep you out,” Sam continued. “You can peruse as much as you want, and take whatever you want.”

Lydia smiled bitterly. “You mean take back what was stolen from my kind?”

Sam frowned. “The Men of Letters of letters were researchers, not thieves.” But even as he spoke the words he could hear them ring hollow and false. How else could the Men of Letters have acquired all that lore and spell work if they had not stolen it from someone? 

Lydia scowled. “The Men of Letters had a habit of leading pogroms against witches.”

“Okay, then you’ll get your stuff back.” Sam thrust himself back into the couch. “Do we have a deal?” 

“Yes, Sam Winchester.” Lydia quirked her head and smirked. “We have a deal.”


	2. S1E10

Lydia’s plans for the day had been simple. After a quiet breakfast, she would walk to the new herbal store in town to stock up, stop by the Winsingtons’ to make sure their ghost problem had cleared up, and then come home and make a few tinctures. 

Then Sam Winchester showed up on her doorstep. Right in the middle of breakfast, too. And Lydia tried, she really tried, to send him away, but even she knew it wouldn’t work. The Winchesters were nothing if not persistent. And Sam Winchester looked broken and defeated and tired, but determined all the same. 

Now he sat across from her, a half-smile lingering on his surprisingly open face. Lydia allowed herself another moment to peer at him before she stood up. Sam looked up at her in surprise.

“I suppose the first step is finding him,” announced Lydia. “Got anything of his?” 

“Yes.” Sam shuffled around awkwardly in his coat with his one good arm. He took out some kind of necklace, a cloth chain with a Buddha head dangling from it. “He’s worn this for years.”

“Perfect.” Lydia took the necklace from him and cast out her senses. She felt the energy coating the necklace, the years of sweat that had encrusted the cloth, the vague scent of damp cologne. It would be a simple thing to locate Dean Winchester using this necklace, what with all the energy it was giving off.  
She walked to her kitchen table, behind which was a shelf cabinet fully stocked with ingredients. She set the necklace down in the center of the table and turned to see that Sam had followed her. He stood awkwardly, towering over her.

“So why Yemen?” Sam asked as Lydia gathered her ingredients. 

She glanced up. “What?”

Sam chuckled softly. “I mean, it just seems so...random.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. Jackass. “It’s not random, white boy; it’s where my mother’s from.” 

“Oh.” Sam blushed. “Right. Of course. Sorry.” He looked so sheepish and mortified that Lydia had to laugh, and when she did his shoulders relaxed. 

In a small bowl, Lydia poured salt water, which she had collected herself from the ocean. Then she dangled a single drop of essence of myrrh over it until it fell into the bowl. The oil floated atop the water like a raft stubbornly refusing to sink. Lydia mixed them together as best as she was able using her index finger, while Sam watched intently.

“I’ve never seen a locator spell like this,” Sam commented. 

“No, you wouldn’t have,” replied Lydia. “Most of the spells you’ve encountered have probably been in the Judeo-Christian tradition, I assume. Latin, Aramaic, all that?” 

Sam nodded, his face alight with interest.

“I learned from my mother.” She set the bowl of water in the middle of the table as she explained. “My spells are in the Old South Arabian tradition. Anyway, this isn’t exactly a spell. I’m scrying.” 

Sam cocked his head. “What does that mean, exactly?” 

Lydia paused as she pondered how to explain scrying. Her mother had never explained much to her. She had simply told her what to do, and when Lydia was able to do it, she immediately understood. Sometimes there was no explaining magic. But Sam was looking at her expectantly.

“I’m...redirecting the energy from your brother’s necklace into the water,” she said finally. “It’s pretty rudimentary technique, energy redirection, but it’s something only natural witches can do. You have to be able to feel the magic.”

“What does it feel like?”

Lydia had no idea how to answer that. Magic was magic, and it was all she’d ever known. It would be like her asking a non-witch what it was like to live without magic.

“Enough with the twenty questions.” She tried to soften her tone as she said it. “I need to concentrate.” 

Sam fell silent as Lydia held the necklace over the bowl. Energy rushed through her. The water began to shiver in ripples, like small waves on an angry beach. The necklace in Lydia’s hand seemed to buzz, so she gripped it tight, letting it infuse her with its essence. She focused on the bowl of water, inside of which an image was forming.

After a moment, Lydia looked up. “Beulah, North Dakota.” 

Sam looked from her to the bowl of water. “That’s it? You’re sure?”

Lydia scowled. “Of course I’m sure,” she snapped. 

“But nothing happened,” protested Sam, gesturing to the bowl of water.

Lydia leaned against the table and crossed her arms. “First of all, not all magic has to be flashy carnival tricks.” She motioned to the water with her chin. “ Second, you wouldn’t be able to see anything in there anyway. But I did.”

“And it...it showed you where Dean is?” 

“Yup.” She shoved the necklace back into his hands. 

Sam nodded. “Okay then. Let’s go. My car’s outside.” 

Lydia sighed. This day had started out so peaceful. How had it ended up with her on a rescue mission with Sam Winchester? But if helping out meant access to a Men of Letters bunker and all the knowledge that came with it, it would be worth it. Getting tangled up with the Winchesters would be worth it. It had to be.

***

Sam tried to stay still while he waited for Lydia to change, but he was buzzing with nervous energy. First, he looked through her herbal cabinet, which was full of dried herbs, many of which he had never seen before. Then he circled the living room, still barefoot, and wandered over to one of her bookshelves. He couldn’t read most of the titles here, as they were in Arabic, but the books looked old and worn. Valuable.

One book in particular caught his eye; the binding, which held a calligraphic design, was coming apart, and the pages were brittle, as though they had gotten wet and then air dried. Awkwardly, Sam tried to tug the book out, but it was tucked in so snugly that the books on either side came along with it. All three of them crashed to the floor.

“What are you doing?” asked Lydia. 

Sam looked up. She was staring at him, irritation crowding her features. She had untied her hair, and it fell to her waist in swirls. 

“I - sorry, I was just-” 

But Lydia didn’t seem to be listening; she swept past him to pick up the books and return them to their proper place. “Please don’t touch any of my belongings without asking.” 

“Right,” said Sam. “Sorry.” He had said that a lot today. Sam didn’t want to admit that Lydia unnerved him a little, but she did. It wasn’t just her demeanor; it was that she was the last unexplored resource he had for saving Dean. She did not seem like the type of person who would continue to help if you got on her bad side. 

Shaking her head, Lydia walked to the door and began to lace up her knee-high boots. She had changed into worn jeans and a sturdy looking tank top. Once she finished tying her shoes, she re-tied her hair into a tighter ponytail. 

Once again Lydia quietly watched Sam put on his shoes one-armed. Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted her to offer help or not. Accepting it would make him feel like a child, but her standing silently, not acknowledging the difficulty he was having, was beginning to feel oddly awkward. 

Finally, his shoes were on his feet, and he walked out. Lydia followed, slinging a huge messenger across her body. 

“That’s your car?” asked Lydia dubiously as they walked over to the Impala.

“Well, it’s my brother’s, actually.” 

Lydia said nothing until Sam walked over to the driver’s seat. “Oh, hell no.”

Sam looked up; the key was in the door. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m not letting you drive me one-armed.” Lydia walked over to the driver’s side and shoved Sam out of the way. “I’m not dying in a freaking car accident of all things.” 

“I can drive-” Sam started to protest.

“I don’t care what you think you can do. I’m driving if you want me to come along.” She looked up at him, the challenge written in her eyes. 

Sam sighed. “Fine! Whatever. Just...be careful with the car.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Says the guy driving with one arm.” 

Sam got in the driver’s seat across from Lydia and watched her settle in. She had a sharp profile, with a long nose that Sam associated with royalty. He looked away before she could catch him staring.

“So,” said Lydia when they were on the road. “Tell me more about your brother.” 

Sam looked over. “What do you wanna know?” 

Lydia shrugged. “Everything. I want to be as prepared as possible.” 

So Sam thought for a moment, and then he began to tell her as much as he could about Dean. They had eighteen hours to kill until Beulah, though Sam could probably talk about Dean for twice as long.


End file.
